


Once Upon a Dream

by Nny



Series: Clint Barton Bingo 2019 [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Circus, Dreamsharing, Fluff, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: Bucky read, or heard somewhere, or knew somehow in his bones, that the brain wasn't so good at making up faces; that you tended to dream about the people you saw in real life, which made the whole soulmate thing a little more complicated, he figured.





	Once Upon a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts).



Bucky read, or heard somewhere, or knew somehow in his bones, that the brain wasn't so good at making up faces; that you tended to dream about the people you saw in real life, which made the whole soulmate thing a little more complicated, he figured. At least that - seventy years out of his time - wasn't anything he had to worry about, and he could just enjoy the dreaming for what it was. Dreaming was a new rediscovery that had been unfrozen alongside him - there was no dreaming in cryostasis, although he thought he remembered nightmares.

Maybe those had just been him.

Still, it made sense that he dreamed about the people on base, and it didn't have to mean anything at all. Made sense that him and Stevie were joined on the boardwalk by Sam, that Tony was dressed up like the bearded lady they'd seen on Coney Island, that Natasha sat stoically silent as they slithered and curled round the Cyclone's coils. He maybe wouldn't've imagined casting Clint as the guy who'd made eyes at him over Stevie's head, the one Bucky had braced up against the splintered back wall of a sideshow and -

Imagined pleasure looked good on imagined Clint. Maybe it did make sense; he'd found himself noticing that a lot of things looked good on the real one.

He hadn't precisely meant to be looking. He just hadn't precisely made the effort to look away. The way Sam looked at Steve, and Stevie looked at Sam, all open and up-front and hearts in their eyes, he'd got the impression that some of the future had been worth sticking around for. That went double when he saw the news footage, the flags, the 'I now pronounce you's where they were pronouncing people like him. So he had swallowed his heart back down and attempted a smile when Tony'd made a saucy comment about some guy playing cut-rate Namor in a film. He'd blinked but kept his cool when scary-Maria had mentioned her girlfriend. And he'd looked, and he'd found himself looking, and he hadn't forced himself to look away.

Clint was a one man circus, in any case. Always a little dazzle, always a spin and a quick wink, always something he wanted you watching. He wasn't smooth like a ringmaster needed to be, but he was sure as hell flexible enough to shove his foot into his mouth, and he made Bucky grin more than anyone else on base, which was another of those rediscoveries that Bucky wanted to keep. Clint was worth looking at, especially when he was shooting, straight-backed and loose-hipped and holy hell his _arms_.

Kinda made sense that it sure as hell wasn't the last time that Clint took a starring role in his dreaming.

*

It wasn't somewhere that he could remember being, although from what he understood of dreaming he must've stumbled across it at some point. Maybe he hadn't seen it full and bustling; maybe he'd walked between silent stalls and laced up tents. The lights were all shining now, though, the mouthwatering scent of fried onions in the air.

(Dreams with Clint in 'em always seemed somehow a little realer, lingered a little more solidly on the edges of his waking brain.)

If he'd've been awake he'd most likely have been disgusted at himself, but dreaming he grinned and let himself be tugged along by the hand, Clint grinning over his shoulder at Bucky, some kinda dumb mask doing nothing to hide his identity, not when Bucky could see his eyes.

"Hey," he said, but it was like hearing it through water, all the noises of the circus a little dim and disjointed, a little far away. He tugged at Clint's hand instead, and Clint curled around and into him like it was nothing to trust him, like it was nothing to brush their lips together and share some of the warmth of his sunshine smile.

*

Bucky dragged himself out of sleep only reluctantly that morning, scowled at people over the coffee pot, snarled at Clint when he tried to take it away.

"Anyone have any interesting dreams, last night?" was pointed and, uncharacteristically, from Natasha; Bucky thought about bright bulbs and striped canvas and scowled into the silence, ignored Clint's plaintive noise when he picked up the coffee pot and dragged it with him back to bed.

After that it was a few nights before he had another one of those dreams. He dreamed, sure, but they were less linear, more nonsensical, and nothing he touched or saw or heard seemed real. That was for the best, 'cos Bucky watched a call-out on the conference room screens and spent nights after that dreaming of the smell of hot metal and how it was indistinguishable from blood. He wandered out of his room and into the multi-level living area, found Clint quiet and dark eyed and blankly watching something brightly coloured and entirely without plot.

Felt right to take a seat next to him. Feel the warmth of him along the length of Bucky's side.

"Not sleeping well?" he asked.

"Didn't want to intrude," Clint said, which didn't make sense to Bucky's exhausted brain.

Didn't make sense until Bucky was struggling against the ways they'd restrained him - he always managed so much more resistance in his dreams. Didn't make sense until Bucky was gasping around the terror of it, heart almost beating out of his chest, and looking up at the Hydra scientist who smiled, thin and twisted, and opened his mouth to say -

To say nothing, all the necessary breath stolen by the arrow through his chest.

Bucky choked out a breath that he'd been holding, his chest hurting as he startled himself awake, blinking into consciousness inches away from Clint who was barely waking.

"That was you?" Bucky asked, and Clint's eyes widened, and he mangled something about trying to stay awake, about trying to give Bucky space. Bucky figured he was entitled to silence him mouth to mouth, lips to lips. Clint'd know what the kiss was for in any case - he'd been right there in Bucky's dream.


End file.
